


Original Sin

by mickeysixx



Category: Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles
Genre: Community: rounds_of_kink, Dom/sub, Gunplay, Incest, M/M, Weapons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-14
Updated: 2009-08-14
Packaged: 2017-10-14 16:24:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/151199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickeysixx/pseuds/mickeysixx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time was in the kitchen</p>
            </blockquote>





	Original Sin

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Round 12 at [Rounds of Kink](http://community.livejournal.com/rounds_of_kink/).  
> Prompt: metal you can trust  
> Kink: gun play, weapons, possibly D/s
> 
>  _14 August 2009_

The first time was in the kitchen. It was early; too early for John to be up, but late enough for Derek to return from his usual morning run, t-shirt dark and damp with his sweat. There was a pause, a moment where John pretended he'd been looking for the box of cereal in the cupboard and Derek watched him from across the room. The teenager did his best to ignore the fact that he'd probably - almost definitely - been caught doing something he shouldn't. But John completely missed the flash of heat in the green eyes across the room, the sweeping glance from head to toe, the prowling, almost silent steps as he moved closer.

Not a word was spoken between them as Derek crowded him slowly against the kitchen counter, a solid chest pressed close to a warm back. John didn't ask what he was doing, didn't move a muscle except to breathe and grip the edge of the cool, shiny wood with both hands. They were still for what seemed like forever, long enough for John to memorise how the older man felt against him, before the first move was made. One warm, slightly slick hand pressed to his bare side, almost burning through his skin, and slowly - _achingly slowly_ \- slid around his body until it was flat against his stomach. It stayed there for untold seconds, thumb twitching in what could be seen as a caress across his skin, and then finally moved again.

This time down.

Down, down, down - movements so measured that John thought he was going to go insane waiting - hand turning until his fingertips pointed downwards. Another pause; each one giving John every chance to stop him. He didn't. John stayed exactly where he was, unable to move in fear of the moment shattering completely. Because that was something he didn't want to happen, not when he'd been wanting this for as long as he had.

One hand, palm flat, slipping under the waistband of his shorts, taking over from where his own hand had been minutes before. John's breathing quickened, skin flushing and sensitive skin shivering with a new touch. Knuckles whitened with the force of his grip, eyes sliding closed as rough fingertips traced throbbing veins, mouth running dry at the sheer amount of _want_ inside him.

Skin against skin, his heart pounding in his throat while a steady, confident hand held him firmly and moved, pulling and stroking and thumbing across the head. Hot, damp breath skated across his ear, stirring short hair, but still no words were offered. No explanation, no questions, no words of encouragement. Just Derek's hand jacking him slow and steady and John's secret late night fantasies coming to life.

Something tugged on his shorts. One, two, three tugs, each time they were pulled down further, exposing more skin until the fourth tug sent them to the floor. Without prompting, John let his head fall forward, tucking his chin into his chest. Now the hot breath skittered across the nape of his neck, raising goosebumps there and chasing chills down his spine. Heavy eyes opened half-mast. Burning need, all centered in his groin, making John's breathing spike abnormally. The hand wrapped around his dick was familiar, safe, _wanted_ \- pre-come making the friction less and the need more. Heat and pleasure and adrenaline flooded his system, every single place along his body acutely aware of Derek; the sweat soaked into his t-shirt that was sticking to his back, the hardness pressed into the top of his ass, the heartbeat that was almost synchronised with his own. John's mind raced, body shaking with the build up to his release.

He'd barely drawn breath to moan out his name when the man at his back chose his moment. One twist in just the right place sent him tumbling over the edge, the name on his lips lost in the gasp that escaped him. Stomach muscles clenched, eyes shut tight, mouth open on a silent scream. Pulse after pulse after pulse, the expert hand guiding him through his orgasm relentlessly, slick and slippery with his come and not stopping until John had given everything he had.

He barely registered when the hand left. The body stayed for a few moments longer before Derek finally detached himself from the boy's back. Neither of them said a word. Fine tremors shook his arms as he held himself up and John thought Derek had gone, but he didn't dare open his eyes and check.

When he finally found the courage, John saw that he was alone, naked and shaking against the kitchen counter, wondering if it had all been a dream.

  


~8~

  
The second time they didn't even touch. Since the Kitchen Incident - as he'd taken to calling it in his head - there had been an unspoken mutual agreement not to mention it, and even though John was practically bursting with questions, he bit his tongue and tried to get back to reality. Everything carried on as normal; or, as normal as it could be with human-looking killer robots who wanted to assassinate him.

Which was why John was stunned to find Derek sprawled on the couch when he returned from picking up groceries, completely naked and lazily jerking himself off. It was lucky that he'd managed to set the bags down in the kitchen before wandering into the main room, because he surely would have dropped them by now. John gawped at him, gaze roving over the miles of scared and inked skin and solid muscle, following the line of his throat from his arched neck all the way down to where his hand pulled at the thick erection. Swallowing thickly, he tracked the motions of the large hand - up and down, thumb randomly sweeping over the head and spreading the moisture around, fingers squeezing gently every so often along the shaft.

When he finally looked up, he found Derek staring straight at him, head turned on the back of the sofa to face him. The second their eyes connected, John's stomach flip-flopped violently, his cock throbbing in his jeans. Liquid fire burned in his uncle's stare, the hand never pausing, never faltering. His whole body set alight, burning with need and want and lust for the one man he couldn't have. The one man he shouldn't have.

But when Derek used his free hand to beckon him closer, to wordlessly order him to stand between his thighs, John went without question. He just couldn't help it; resistance would shatter the fantasy and as confused as John was, he _really_ didn't want this to stop. The older man watched his every step until John came to a rest in front of him, eyes slowly flicking down to watch his palm the flushed erection.

John didn't think twice about lowering himself to his knees and settling between spread thighs. And the strange thing was, after getting caught staring at his cock, it was the arched eyebrow that made him flush. But Derek's hand didn't stop; if anything he relaxed further into the couch and made more of a show of himself, lifting his hips slightly to settle more comfortably on the couch. The motion pulled John's gaze south, pupils blown wide as he stared. Everything was clearer now; he could see the veins in the flesh, the flushed slick head which was steadily dribbling come down the shaft, the nest of crisp dark hairs surrounding the base and spreading out, dusting along the inside of his thighs.

Saliva pooled in his mouth, the need to lean forward and take the cock into his mouth almost overwhelming. He'd never wanted to suck dick before, but being so close, close enough to touch and taste and lick - it was too much, too tempting. Burning green eyes held him in place however, and John was forced to watch as Derek's free hand joined in, moving down to cup his twitching, heavy balls and roll them, his rhythm easy and well-practiced.

The tension in the room climbed. Derek's breathing became quicker, his chest shining with sweat, and John was entranced by the way the older man started to unravel. The speed of his hand increased, eased by the steady stream of come that coated his palm. Small, soft grunts and pants fell from his lips, Derek's eyes watching his own hand as he jerked. John whined quietly, not realising it was him until the other man looked at him.

The hand stopped completely. John glanced up with wide eyes and caught the brief flash of indecision in his eyes.

But then it was gone. And Derek was moving; sitting up and shuffling forward and widening his legs. Confused, John frowned, ready to reach out and stop him if he was going to leave. But Derek didn't leave and John was even more confused than before.

Then John's imagination went into over-drive. He stared up into Derek's eyes, mouth opening slowly as Derek aimed and stripped his cock harder and faster, the sound of flesh on flesh louder and sharper. Sweat rolled down his temple, breath hissing out between his teeth, panting, heartbeat thundering in his ears - so close, so close, so _close_.

Warm, bitter, saltiness exploded on his tongue, Derek straining out a curse between clenched teeth and John struggling to swallow while taking more and more, anything not in his mouth ending up on his face like some sick face painting, until he was spent.

The other man was breathing hard when John finally opened his eyes, staring at him like he was some strange creature he'd never seen before. Once again they stayed silent and John wondered what he looked like; cock pressing insistently against the denim, both fists clenched on his thighs, and Derek's come dripping from his chin. Smirking gently, green eyes slid down to rest on the obvious bulge and John drew in a quick, sharp breath as it twitched under the scrutiny. Derek didn't even have to say anything. One hot look did it all.

Without a word, Derek stood from the couch, turned, and left the room, leaving John with damp jeans and a desperate need to shower.

  


~8~

  
In contrast, the third time was fast and messy and all they _did_ was touch. John's heart was in his throat, pounding in his ears as he ran, focused on nothing but getting away from the Trip-Eight that was on his tail. He'd barely moved out of the way before it fired at him, the bullet missing his head by centimetres, but he didn't stop to think of how lucky he was. John knew from experience that it was best not to hang around to test the theory.

John's body vibrated with every gunshot, with every step he took as his feet pounded the ground, and he hardly had time to think as he took a sharp corner in an attempt to throw the Metal off. Fear and adrenaline coursed around his body, panic threatening to snare him and take over his logical mind, and he just made it round without skidding before his world was thrown into chaos again. Hands grabbed him, his body yanked sideways so hard he lost his footing, and in the confusion he didn't fight back. One wild thought crossed his mind: _I'm sorry I couldn't be the person you needed me to be._

But the shot he was expecting never came. Instead, John found himself wheeled around and slammed against a solid wall, teeth rattling with the force of it, and something equally as solid pinning him so that he couldn't move. Pain exploded at the back of his head where it hit the wall, making him dizzy, but his pained moan was muffled by the hand clamped over his mouth. It took him a few seconds to work out that the solid mass holding him firmly to the wall was, in fact, a body.

Derek's body.

The adrenaline and the closeness of the older man played havoc with his body. He tried to move, but his grip only tightened and John was crushed between the unforgiving cold at his back and the blazing heat at his front. Rolling his eyes up, he saw that Derek wasn't looking at him. but instead was staring out from the small alcove he'd dragged John into, watching the Trip-Eight as it passed slowly. John was still, tense, one hand at Derek's hip and the other digging into the arm that was covering his mouth, but he didn't dare breathe for fear of the Machine finding them.

Lightheaded, John could only wait until Derek deemed it safe enough to drop his hand. When he did, John relaxed in his grip and tried to get his breath back, but his attempt was futile. The second he looked up into hard, angry green eyes, he was lost, his breath once again stolen from his body. John was already hard (being up close and personal with the older man like this, how was was he supposed to keep himself under control?) but it wasn't until Derek shifted his stance slightly that he realised that he wasn't the only one.

John blinked. Derek opened his mouth, but shut it again without saying anything. They stared at each other, an eternity stretching out between them as silent words were exchanged. John felt like the prey to Derek's predator; pinned, unable to move, and staring up into eyes that seemed to swallow him whole. His mouth worked soundlessly, groping for something - _anything_ \- to say.

But Derek didn't need words. Didn't appear to want them as he leaned closer and circled his hips very deliberately, and whatever John was going to say died instantly in his throat. His reaction was the trigger, the signal that Derek was looking for, and John didn't have time to breathe before the dam broke. In a flurry of movement, hands roughly gripped the back of his thighs and pulled him up, John's back scrapping along the rough wall behind him, but he didn't resist. He let Derek lead the way, parting his legs around his hips and securing him there while his lips dragged along his skin. They didn't kiss.

They never kissed.

John all but wrapped around him, one hand gripping the back of his neck tight to hold him up and the other scrabbling for purchase on the wall. They rutted, breath forced out in hot and heavy pants, thighs aching as he gripped Derek's hips tighter when his hands moved. John let his head fall back to the wall, the spike of pain ignored in favour of the pleasure, the anticipation of what they were doing. It was all he'd been thinking about since the first time; all he'd wanted since the second. Unsteady, frantic fingers messed with the fastening of his pants, bumping against the outline of his cock and making his body shake even more.

It was over in a matter of seconds. Hot fist closing around his impossibly hard prick, jacking him so fast that John was sure he was going to find friction burns afterwards. Teeth sank deep into his bottom lip, legs shaking with the effort of keeping himself up, hands and fingers digging into flesh and hair and muscle and cloth while he rocked and bucked in Derek's arms. Foreheads pressed together tightly, his neck hurting from the odd position but John couldn't care less about that. All he wanted was to come; to give Derek everything he wanted, everything he was asking for.

Eyes locked, hot, damp breath mingled, and one last tug sent him over the edge. The pounding in his ears was so loud he wildly thought that the Trip-Eight was going to hear and come back to find them. Half-formed words were breathed wetly into his skin, but John was too far gone to hear them. He clung and shivered, bucked and whimpered as Derek's hand continued to milk him, skin hypersensitive to his touch, and it didn't look like he was ever going to stop. And then something vibrated urgently against his thigh.

Time to go.

John followed Derek out of the abandoned warehouse, his jacket scuffed and his legs wobbly, trying not to listen when Derek murmured a quiet _"Yeah, Sarah, I got him."_

  


~8~

  
By the fourth time, John had gathered enough courage to make the first move. His timing wasn't perfect - his mom was still in the house, albeit asleep, and Cameron was wandering around like she did most nights - but still he crept out of his own bedroom and padded silently across the hall towards Derek's door. Without making a sound he turned the handle and let himself in, quickly pivoting to face the door as he closed it again.

And got a gun to his head for his trouble.

"Don't move."

John swallowed down the panic that shot through him and forced himself to be calm. Completely ignoring the low order, he turned slowly on the spot until he was facing Derek and the staring straight down the muzzle of the hand gun. With anyone else it would have been a stupid move, but John trusted Derek not to shoot him. John trusted Derek, period.

  
Silence encompassed them as they stared at each other, eyes glittering in the scant moonlight coming through the curtains. Derek took a step forward. John stayed where he was. The gun never wavered - didn't lower - and only moved forward when Derek did. His heart beat picked up speed, blood already rushing south, and he was glad that he at least had the door at his back to keep him from collapsing to the floor. The other man moved forward again. And again. Until John could feel the heat pouring off the other man's body and smell of oil from the gun that was now oh-so-close.

John watched in slow motion as the gun finally strayed from its deadly aim. Cold metal pressed against the warm, flush skin of his cheek, and he went from semi-hard to full blown erection in the space of a few seconds. Thick air was pulled in unsteadily, eyelids fluttering as the metal continued to travel along his cheek, across his jaw and down the line of his neck, sending tingles along his skin. John was sure that he'd never been so turned on in his life, never been as achingly hard as he was now as the dangerous weapon caressed his skin. A wet tongue flicked out along dry lips and John heard the change in Derek's breathing as he came even closer, pressing him into the door.

"Why don't you stop me?"

It was the first time he'd said something that wasn't an order, voice rough and low, his tone equal parts curiosity and desperation; like he craved to know but begged for him not to say. With eyes still closed, John let himself feel the breath that fanned across his face and taste their need in the air around them. Derek was waiting for an answer and John consented to give him one.

"I don't want to."

Cool metal pressed harder to his racing pulse, driving home the point of who was in control. But even as John whimpered and tilted his head in submission, pushing back against the only metal he could trust, he knew that they were both pulling the strings in this wicked game. Derek moved even closer, their mouths merely centimetres apart, lips brushing air as he responded in a harsh whisper, "You should."

Eyes opened slowly, seeing for the first time just how close Derek really was. Shivers rolled over his skin at how the man trapped him against the wood, free arm braced by his head and a thigh settled between his parted legs. The barrel of the gun pressed steady and firm against his throat, his heartbeat and his cock throbbing in time. He looked up into dark, glittering eyes, and spoke two clear words.

"I know."

  
And then the air between them was no longer there, John moving first despite the loaded 9 mm at his throat. It took Derek all of two seconds to respond, moan lost in the hot, wet heat of John's mouth, one hand moving from the wall to cradle the back of John's head. He wanted, needed - _ached_ \- for Derek, his own hands grabbing and touching, daring to push him even though the gun had yet to move.

  
Later, he'd replay this in his head and wonder how they moved from the door to the bed without hurting themselves, but no matter how hard he wracked his brain, he still wouldn't find the answer. All he knew was that one minute they were kissing and groping against the door, and the next John was on his back on the bed, sheets still warm against his naked skin. Messy, sucking kisses trailed down his neck, teeth nipped sharply at his collar-bone, a hand pinned his other shoulder down to the mattress, and John had to fight against every moan that threatened to spill from his mouth.

And then he was gone.

John's dazed mind took a few seconds to catch up. Panting, he opened his eyes and frowned up at the other man who was straddling his hips. Eyes locked. The heat in Derek's gaze scorched him, the butterflies in his stomach clamouring to get out. Derek's hand twitched, attracting John's gaze. Rough, agile fingers held the 9mm firmly, his grip familiar and steady. John swallowed thickly as he weighed it in his palm, turning it this way and that. He looked up. The slow smirk that stretched his lips made his heart stop beating.

Then, in one move, John was completely undone.

Senses overloaded, he could do nothing more than arch and arch hard, trying and failing to draw in enough air to breathe. Fingers fisted tight in the sheets, his skin turning white from the strength of his grip, and now his heart was beating so hard that he was sure it was going to beat right out of his chest. John bucked and twitched and shook and shivered, but no matter what he did, the gun didn't move. It pressed right against his cock, the barrel running along the shaft like it was an extension of himself. Cool grey metal and hot red skin. Blood rushed in his ears, roaring, and someone was talking, chanting _please, please, please, please_ over and over again in a hoarse voice.

His body was on fire, burning right up from the inside out, and a part of him wasn't sure he was going to survive it.

Derek moved, free hand holding him up as he leaned over and plundered his mouth frenetically, murmuring words like _damn_ and _fuck_ and _Jesus, John_ into his mouth between the sweet strokes of his tongue. Everything sounded too loud; their heartbeats, their breathing, every whimper and bitten-off moan that was muffled by Derek's mouth. The taste of metal and desperation laced his tongue, and he was so close, so... goddamn.... _close_.

It took one hard buck to finish him off. His body jerked of its own accord, the gun slipped down to press against his sac, and John's orgasm hit him like a bullet. Mindless with pleasure, he clawed at him, short nails raking over his shoulders, his back and arms, trying to find ground as his world flew apart. Every muscle in his body was tense and shaking, the man he was clinging to pressing words of encouragement into his skin, rocking with him as he painted their skin with his come. It was too much; the pleasure was so sweet that it hurt, his skin too tight to contain him, but all John could do was hold on and wait for it to end.

He must have passed out, because when John's higher-brain functions returned, he realised he was no longer coming. Instead he was panting and shivering violently against the sheets. His body felt used. He ached in places he didn't know he _could_ ache and he felt like he'd just had his brain broken and pieced together again. Gentle fingers stroked along his arm, and that was when John became aware of warmth along his back. He blinked slowly in the dark. Despite his shivering, he wasn't cold.

"You ok?"

The coarse rumble caressed his skin, but John couldn't answer. Lips pressed to his bare shoulder, his hand now anchoring at his hip, thumb stroking back and forth. A lover's touch. John knew they were in dangerous territory. One wrong move would get them killed. Was he ok?

Moonlight reflected off the gun, now lying innocently on the table beside the bed.

His lips twitched into a smile. Derek moved closer, pressed his lips to the back of his neck, and took his smile as his answer.

Dangerous territory or not, John didn't think he could say no.


End file.
